


Eat Me

by Jayde_Spell



Category: Original Works
Genre: Drugs, Overdosing, Poetry, Religion, Self-Hatred, Snow, lack of boundaries, vomitting, yeah yeah yeah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-22 12:23:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17662580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jayde_Spell/pseuds/Jayde_Spell
Summary: My knees achewhere they rest near the toilet bowl.My hair, carefully tucked into my shirt collar.Dizziness and epitaphs already mapped out -I’ve already planned my own half-assed apology to my mother.





	Eat Me

**Author's Note:**

> guess what i did on New Years?
> 
> it wasn’t a good time. I can be really stupid lol.

Jesuit priests and cocktails.  
Sunday service looks the best in snow -  
The cold air leaving mist in your wake.

I wasn’t sure how much to take.  
But, looking back, I figure I should’ve  
drawn the line elsewhere.

Not taken the line, at all.  
Boundaries are hard  
and so are the pews in chapel.

My knees ache  
where they rest near the toilet bowl  
My hair, carefully tucked into my shirt collar. 

Dizziness and epitaphs already mapped out -  
I’ve already planned my own half-assed apology to my mother.

If I were to die in this bathroom,  
if my head were to explode (the room is spinning much too fast)

she’d hate me, I know, for I while  
I suppose. I guess. It’s still not enough  
for me to reason with time.

To trick death, or life, into unfolding  
the joint paper which is smooth where the pills aren’t — where edges meet fine lines.

Where the crushed edibles leave me  
shaking and spinning  
clossally desperate to the core.

To pray for a quick death  
and a smart mouth sibling to burn  
every damning paper. 

Crush every pipe,  
every single leaf,  
or maybe just this body I keep 

holding onto vaguely.  
I don’t want my mother to find me like this -  
to hate me like I know she will.

This would be worse than her finding out  
about the drugs that have scrambled my brain, over the years.

Worse than learning about my adventure’s at my first crush’s house.  
Worse than finding out my misshapen sexuality. 

I’m floating on devil’s lettuce  
thinking of corn and beets  
in fields surrounded by scarecrows 

and trying to remember  
what color of eyes my dealer had  
just in case  
I needed to describe them in an afterlife.

**Author's Note:**

> ive written over 300 poems in my phone. and im pretty sure no one will ever see them unless i shared one on here. sorry. Lemme know if they’re worth reading. Please be gentle


End file.
